


strange bird

by keatstar



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife, Time Travel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keatstar/pseuds/keatstar
Summary: And then she's gone, disappeared from her own timeline and thrown into another. And there he is, waiting for her. It's just always been like that. It might seem strange to some but it's all quite normal to John by now.
Relationships: John Lennon/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	strange bird

The room is dimly lit and cigarette smoke is thick in the air. Chairs are scattered about and wires lay across the concrete floor. Her eyes follow them up to where they're connected to amps and guitars. Empty beer bottles are everywhere; it looks like they've just finished band practice.

The room is quiet except for the sound of a single guitar, it's notes ringing out. It sounds like a melancholy tune, lazily plucked and not completely on beat. John sits in the corner, face stern as he stares at the floor. He's in a mood.

"It's been months," he says without looking at her. She jumps a little in surprise, unaware that he had even noticed her presence. Even as her feet pad across the floor, he doesn't turn to her. Her heart sinks. It's not like she blames him. Their situation isn't very fair, it never has been. John has never been at fault for that, only her.

"Has it?" she asks gently. When he doesn't respond, she tries again, "I'm sure the visits will grow shorter."

The following silence begins to scare her. There's something else he isn't telling her, something more jarring than their time spent apart. It always upsets him when he doesn't see her but he always showed some understanding. He had always been happy to see her.

"John," she says, voice weak from her uncertainty. "What's wrong?"

He's tired of waiting for her, she thinks. He's tired of this, of them.

Finally, his head rolls to the side and he looks up at her from his seat. There's no light in his eyes, no expression on his face. He's hiding from her, wearing a stony mask that's impossible to read. It's his best defense.

"You were wearing a wedding ring," he says flatly. "Before."

"Oh." Blood rushes and her cheeks burn; there's no reason she should feel embarrassed, she reminds herself. She doesn't want to have this conversation with John, assure him that it had been nothing, because it wasn't nothing was it? He saw her and she was married. But to who?

"Curious about the lucky fella?" John asks as if he could read her thoughts. He could always read her so well. He watches her for a moment before his eyes fall back to the guitar in his hands. "I couldn't tell ya if I wanted to," he admits bitterly. "Another one of your secrets, I suppose."

"You can't be mad at me for something I haven't done yet," she finally exclaims. His gaze shoots back to hers and he sees her building frustration, sees her eyes shining with unshed tears. Her hands are clenched at her sides as she says, "I don't know any more than you do, John."

He sniffs. "Who's fault is that?" he asks.

It's a difficult relationship, her's and John's. Whenever she does see him, she can never know exactly where they stand, she never knows exactly what they are. It's always just been enough to be with him, in whatever way possible. But this isn't doing it for her. He's back to ignoring her and she can't stand it; she turns on her heel and walks away.

His head snaps up.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I don't know how long I have," she says, voice shaking with anger, "but I'm not spending it here fighting with you." Suddenly, she feels his hand on her wrist stopping her and pulling her back to him. Turning, she bumps into him and he steadies her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he snaps. Taking a deep breath, his eyes falls closed and he says more gently, "I'm sorry, okay? Don't go."

She pouts before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his torso. It's been awhile for the both of them. His arms around her feel warm and heavy, they seem to hold her down to the earth, to him. She can't help the sigh that slips from her lungs as she rests against his chest.

"What year is it?" she mumbles, burrowing further into him. No matter when it is, she's glad they've progressed far enough in their relationship to allow this. It's still all new to her; is it new to John as well?

"1961," he tells her. It's later than she thought. John is twenty-one years old. Remembering his anger towards her wedding band, she thinks perhaps they have grown closer than she realizes.

. . .

They have a set of rules to follow. It's a tricky thing, time travel, especially when one is not in control of where or when they end up. Wynny tells him that it sneaks up on her, a feeling of drowsiness, her vision spotting before going dark. And then she's gone, disappeared from her own timeline and thrown into another. And there he is, waiting for her. It's just always been like that. It might seem strange to some but it's all quite normal to John by now.

Somehow, he's always there when she travels, whether it's ten years into the past or ten years into the future. How far forward she goes, he doesn't know. She won't tell him. It's one of the rules.

It's a drag having to wait around for her. Because it's not something Wynny can control, she simply pops in at random moments throughout the years. John would like to find her, to meet her, to see her everyday in her own timeline. But Wynny won't let him. It's one of the rules.

Wynny assures him that things work out in their own time. Wynny knows what's in store because it's already happened for her. But Wynny won't tell him.

. . .

It's late at night and John is weary as he walks to his car. Long day, boring day, tiring day. He'll go to sleep tonight and repeat it all in the morning, that's how routine his life has become they've come home from touring. He's so frustrated with himself that he hardly expects to see her walking down the street.

"Wyn?" he asks in surprise. He's not sure if she hears him and he's not even sure that it's truly her. He had only gotten a glimpse of her face before she continued down the street, walking in the opposite direction. But something tells him that he isn't mistaken; something tells him that this time is different. "Wynny!" he cries out, and he jogs towards her before she can disappear out of sight.

The girl slowly turns towards him, her beautiful eyes opened wide in confusion.

This is it, he thinks, heart soaring. This is their first meeting, when everything begins for her, when their life together can finally begin.

But then she doubles over, hands clasped together and pressed against her chest as she starts to gasps. He thinks she's having a fit of some sort, perhaps she's sick and worry clouds his mind as he races towards her. But then she lifts her head and cries, "Oh my god! You're John bloody Lennon!"

He slows down, his flight instinct beginning to kick in.

"Oh my god," she cries again as he puts his hands up, trying to shush her.

"Alright, alright," he hisses, looking around in case of other frantic fans. What is he supposed to do? The love of his life is a mess in front of him; she doesn't know him yet, outside of his association with the Beatles. He spent years imagining how their first meeting would unfold but he had never pictured a scene like this.

"If you stop crying, I'll buy you dinner, eh?" he tries. Wynny sniffles and looks up at him with wide eyes, eyes that are so familiar and strange at the same time. Damn the girl for doing this to him. He sighs, accepting that he's a love struck fool and says, "Alright then, come ed'."

. . .

When he walks into his apartment later that night, exhausted and tense, Wynny is there waiting for him. It's not the best time, he thinks, after he had spent all evening with her driving him up the wall. But this is his Wynny and she's beautiful.

"You're a bloody lunatic," he still snaps, even as he inhales her scent, drowns in her gaze.

"I was a fan," she carefully corrects. With a laugh she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a kiss. He begrudgingly reciprocates, lips sliding against hers, arms holding her tightly to him. Her body molds against his, and they fit together like puzzle pieces.

And Wynny, she thinks of this night when she was so young and so nervous when meeting her idol, her crush, her love. Looking back on it, she clearly remembers his aggravation; she hadn't been sure why he had wasted time on her. But now she understands, and no matter what his mood had been like, he had still come back home to her.

. . .

John punches the numbers into the phone, and listens to the ring as he waits for her to pick up. It's another bad day in the studio, with bickering and arguing and George storming out. The theatrics are quite boring by now but John still needs to hear her voice. It always works wonders on his nerves.

The phone is still ringing when he hears her behind up, her quick inhale as she gasps in surprise.

"You always seem to know when I need you," he says with a huff of laughter as he hangs up the phone and turns towards her. What he sees, however, makes him pause. The girl looks terrified, with wide us and her jacket clutched tightly around her shoulders.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" she asks, eyes darting around the studio. John brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

"Christ," he mutters.

"John Lennon?" she says, sounding a bit unsure. He looks different from her time; he's older, sporting eyeglasses and facial scruff and longer hair. Still, she's familiar with his face, and knows who stands before her. She would recognize him anywhere, in any time. "You knew me," she says, this time more confidently. "That's why, when we met, you were acting so strange."

"Yes, yes, I know you," he groans. It's cruel of him to act so frustrated, and he immediately wishes he had said it with more kindness. The past weeks weighs heavily on his shoulders, he's been more irritable than usual. Even his Wynny had noticed.

"I'm sorry," he says gently. "This must be overwhelming for you, eh? Maybe you'd like a cuppa? Lets sit, yeah?"

He's pulling a chair out for her (an old rusty one that's been left out but it's something to get her off her feet) when the phone starts ringing.

Wynny sits but watches John closely as he accepts the call and speaks softly into the receiver.

"Yeah, love," he says into the phone, glancing over at Wynny. "I'm a bit, er-" He continues, but more quietly and Wynny can't hear anymore.

"Is that your girlfriend," she asks glumly when John returns to sit with her. He leans back in his chair and smiles, eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Me wife, actually," he replies.

Wynny kicks her feet against the floor and wonders how she's going to get back home.

"There's some things you need to know," John tells her, his voice lacking the usual teasing tone. "There are rules we have to follow. And no matter how grumpy I may be, no matter how confused, you must make sure we follow these rules, Wynny. Time travel is tricky business."

And for her, this is how it all begins.

. . .

The night is warm. John sits on the curb of the street where it happened and wraps his arms around his pulled up knees. His face is raw where he repeatedly rubs the tears away, his nostrils sore where he dries his nose. The crying fit has mostly passed now, but his breathing still hitches as he pictures his mother and the car and the fear.

She says his name softly and for a moment he think it's her, his mother returned to him. His heart drops in his chest and he gasps, head jerking towards the woman who called out for him.

And when he sees that it's Wynny, disappointment crashes through him and the tears return.

"John," she repeats, and he can hear the crack in her voice. "Love, I'm so sorry." Her hand rests against his shoulder, and she feels him shuddering underneath her touch.

"You knew," he says through gritted teeth. "You knew it would happen."

The night is warm but she feels very cold. The way she freezes and her following silence confirms John's suspicions. She could have done something, could have said something but it always goes back to her fucking rules. And now his mum is dead.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, feeling numb to the bone.

He sniffles and reaches into his pocket for a loose cigarette. Placing it between his lips, he pulls out a lighter and quietly says, "Go away. It's what you're best at."

Wynny doesn't move, frozen and shocked by his words. Does he mean it? He can't possibly. And besides, she wants to stay, wants to be with him as he grieves, wants to hold him and comfort him and-

"Did ya hear me?" he asks gruffly, turning his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. "Fuck off!"

His words, so loud and harsh, scare and she feels something deep in her snap. There's a sense of vertigo and then she's sitting on her sofa, back where she was before she had been thrown into the past.

"The babe says it time to eat," John says in a jolly mood as he enters the room holding little William in his arms. The smile on his face falls when her sees her shaking and in tears. "Wyn? What's happened?"

"John," she chokes out and he rushes towards her.

"Hey," he says as he sits down next to her. He manages the balance the baby in his lap while wrapping an arm around Wynny and pulling her to his side. "Hey, I've got you. I've got you, Wynny."

"I'm sorry," she whispers weakly, pressing her face into his neck. "Your mother." He grows suddenly still as he remembers that night, his anger and harsh words. It had been the only time he demanded she leave.

"That was a long time ago," he says. The two lean against each other, their baby giggling between them, oblivious to the heartache. Wynny reaches out, watching in awe as William wraps his tiny hand around her finger. And while her eyes are still cloudy with tears, she smiles.

. . .

It's the summer of love and John Lennon has never been more in love than he is today. It's a sunny day, bright and beautiful and the light shines through Wynny's hair. John can't keep his hands off of her, whether he's brushing her hair back or running thumbs down her jaw.

Today she is finally his. John will love her always.

Wynny dressed down for their wedding day, a simple white dress and just falls to her knees. She wears a necklace of diamonds, a gift from John, and her new wedding ring, another gift from John. Lovely bride, beautiful bride, queen of them all. He must be dreaming.

They're surrounded by friends and family, Pattie is dawning over Wynny's ring when Wyn suddenly stiffens and pulls back. She doesn't have much time but she manages to throw out some excuse, promises to return quickly, before dashing to John's side.

"John," she says, calm but through gritted teeth, her hand squeezing his arm.

He hums, lips still in a dopey smile, as he gazes at her. "Alright, love?" he asks. Her eyes are wide and she shakes her head and the urgency in which she looks at him is enough for him to understand. "No," he begs quietly, trying his best not to draw unnecessary attention from the others. "No, Wyn! It's our wedding day."

Her eyes flash. "I can't help it, can I?" she hisses. "Get me out of here!"

They manage to make it through the door before she's gone.

. . .

She can't be sure when it is. She usually has John to go off of, how he styles his hair, how he dresses, how he looks. But John is nowhere to be seen. It's a windy day, and her veil whips around her, obscuring her vision. Finally, she whips it off her head, glances around at the park around her. Parents are out with their children, watching them play and ride their bikes.

"Hello," a child says to her. He's tiny with knees scraped up from playing with the other boys. Wynny barely glances at him.

"Oh hello," she says, eyes still scanning the park. It's strange. John is usually-

"Looking for someone?" the boy asks. Finally, she looks at him. The boy has eyes like a hawk, trained on her, curious about the girl who appeared out of thin air in a pearly white dress short enough to make his mother gasp.

"Well, I-" she starts before cutting off. He's so small, younger than she's ever seen him. But she recognizes those eyes. Her lips part as her jaw drops in shock. Has John truly known her for so long? "No," she says slowly. "No, sorry." She cuts off, unsure what to say. She wants to tell him that he's smarter than he thinks, that he'll grow up to do great things, that kindness isn't weakness. She wants to tell him that life will be hard but it's so incredible as well.

But before she has a chance to, his friends are calling him back.

"Lennon!" they shout, and he turns his head to see them waving their arms, urging him to return and play. "Come ed'!"

And when faces back towards her to say goodbye, he sees that she's already gone. The park isn't very large but it's open space, and he sees no retreating figure. She had left just as she had arrived.

Strange bird, he thinks before turning back to join his friends.

He doesn't know it yet but for him, this is how it all begins.


End file.
